Karp continued to point until, as though against his will, Kadyrov raised his head, terror on his face. “Yet he continued to think that perhaps he could manipulate the system and convince you, the jurors, that it really wasn’t his fault, to make good, honest people question whether sentencing him to death was the right thing to do,” he said. “And, in doing so, hoped to make a mockery of the system and of you, because he knows, as well as you and I know, that there is only one way to respond to evil of this magnitude, and that is to eradicate it.”
Slowly, Karp lowered his hand and shook his head. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am asking you to invoke the death penalty because it is the only answer to his evil. The defendant knows it. He chose it as surely as he chose to follow Olivia Yancy into her apartment that day. He asked for this, not me.” For several moments, Karp stood facing the jury, looking from one face to the next.
As Karp returned to his seat, Kadyrov sat unmoving, staring straight ahead. But what he saw wasn’t the courtroom but a brightly lit sterile room that smelled of ammonia, deadly chemicals, and fear. A room where they would strap him down and he would die. And when he woke again, it would be dark and cold and forever.
